


Truce

by safe_haven



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safe_haven/pseuds/safe_haven
Summary: "Stay alive for me."This wasn't just a bad day. Peter has been struggling for a long time.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Kudos: 85





	Truce

**Author's Note:**

> [VERY MAJOR WARNING FOR: Suicide attempt, mentions of depression, false or unrealistic thoughts] 
> 
> Hi! I'm Jesse! I hope you enjoy! I'd like to start out by saying the inspiration from this was my own dealings with suicidal thoughts and suicide attempts. I write this from a place of experience and from a place of heart. Love you. Stay at home.

Peter has had 11 therapists in his life and counting. 

1 child psychologist, 4 counselors, 3 psychiatrists, and 3 therapists. 

Every time he starts with someone new, the same question is always asked:  _ Are you an immediate danger to yourself?  _

Peter is. Some nights, he’s sure that he’s going to kill himself if someone doesn’t physically restrain him. He zones out for hours on end every single day fantasizing about his own death. He does anything and everything to hurt himself. Cuts, burns, scratches, bangs his head on the wall, breaks bones. 

_ Yes,  _ he wants to say.  _ Yes, please, I’m in danger. Help me. Get me out of my own head. It’s killing me. _

But there is a programmed response: No. No, I’m not an immediate danger to myself. Aunt May doesn’t have the money for inpatient, no matter how desperately I want to go. I’m not worth the money. I’m not worth the time. I’m not worth anything. 

Peter was diagnosed with depression in the 9th grade. He had been put on medication and given mandatory therapy to attend. Two years later, and nothing. Still, nothing. He was only getting worse. 

The clock reads 3 a.m. Peter is holding a razor blade. This is the position he ends up most nights, debating on whether or not he should actually do it. A sweet, cold relief rushes through his chest tonight. He’s going to do it. 

The thought of death, of The End, has never scared Peter. It was weird for him to think that he just won’t live anymore after today. That his desk in Spanish will be empty. That his friends will grow old without him there. But that was okay. He was meant to die now. He was meant to do this. 

Peter places the blade on the floor and goes to get his phone. He needs to tell his friends goodbye. He could never just leave without telling him he loved them one last time.

But it’s not worth it anymore, is it? Peter puts his phone down, messages left unsent. Nobody cared. Nobody cared about him. They’d be relieved that he had died. They wouldn’t have to deal with his sadness anymore. They wouldn’t have to deal with the burden of his medical bills after the ER visit, they wouldn’t have to deal with him. 

Nobody cared. 

Peter sunk back into the familiar place. There’s a crack the shape of the Plat river on the floor of his kitchen. He knows this because he sits there so often, it’s imprinted on his thigh. 

He could die now. He could die now, and finally, be at peace. No one was going to stop him. The pain was going to cease. 

Joy replaced the sadness in his bones. He was going to do it. For real this time. And everything would be okay. 

… 

Tony splayed his hands in front of him, palms facing outward. A thousand images flashed through the air, a shimmering blue. He muttered something to himself. The light reflected back in his eyes.

He flicked through several of them, fingers lingering on the ones that looked more interesting. He was working on the technology behind the nanobots. He thought that the way they formed could complement his ass just a little more. 

After some playful tinkering, Tony sat back. Looking back on his life, he was proud of his work. He was proud of Pepper, of Peter, of Happy. He was proud. 

He clapped the images closed, and darkness dropped like a blanket over the room.

There was a strange sort of silence as Tony trudged back up the stairs, dreading going to bed. Like something had been muffled. Like he was underwater. He stopped in the kitchen, fingers itching for a cup of coffee. 

"Boss,” FRIDAY interjected. Tony waved a hand impatiently, an usher for her to go on. With his other hand, he pressed START on the coffee machine. “Peter Parker seems to be injured.” 

Tony’s head snapped up. Injured? At 3 a.m? Surely Parker wasn’t on patrol this late. 

“What’s the problem, Fri?” 

“He seems to be losing a lot of blood. His heart rate is dropping at an alarming rate.” 

“What? Where is he?” 

“His apartment.” 

Tony froze, the look of confusion on his face being slowly replaced with understanding. And then, dread. The lines on his face grew deeper, and he seemed to age ten years in a few seconds. 

“Oh, Peter. What happened, kid?” 

His coffee abandoned, he all but sprinted towards the first car he could get his hands on. 

… 

Veins don’t snap like guitar strings. That’s the romanticized version. The blood doesn’t grow flowers, the skin doesn’t begin to turn pink with the final joy of rest. 

It was just a dead body. 

There was nothing romantic about it. There was nothing beautiful about it. There is nothing beautiful about suicide. It is dark, and disgusting, and gray. Peter is grey. 

His skin is turning a dangerous  _ grey.  _

That’s the first thing Tony notices. 

There’s something strange about finding the epitome of happiness lying in a pool of his own blood, eyes still open, staring far away. His lips were chapped and pale, just a hint of a smile on them. 

There was no suicide note. No goodbye text. That’s what bothered Tony the most. What had been going through this kid’s head? He clearly couldn’t have been in his right mind. 

But Peter thought the opposite. As he was preparing, razor in hand, metal against that blue line on his wrist, he felt more clarity than he ever had. He felt like he was finally, finally thinking straight. There wasn’t a decision in his life he was more sure about than this. 

“Oh, kid. What have you done?” 

Tony pressed a cloth against Peter’s wrists, hard. He wished Peter were awake so he could reassure him that everything would be okay. That this was all just a nightmare, that everything was alright. 

“Peter, come on. Wake up. Please.” 

It took hours of working with his wrist and spraying his face with water, but Peter stirred to life. His eyes blinked once, twice. They were foggy and clouded with confusion and fatigue. 

“Peter? Are you with me?” 

His head dropped, and he stared at Tony as if trying to remember who he was. He tried to lift his arm, but Tony held it down gently. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter whispered. His voice was cracked and childlike. He was scared out of his mind. 

“It’s me, Peter. What happened?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

Tony put his free hand in Peter’s hair, cradling his face like it was his most prized possession.

“Kid, what happened?” 

Peter sighed, his shoulders drooping. His head fell back against the wall. “I just wanted to be gone,” he finally said. 

“Why?” 

“Because nobody cares about me. Everybody wishes I was dead anyway. I’m worthless. I am literally nothing more than a burden to the people around me. Think about it. What do I contribute other than being sad all the goddamn time?”

Peter looked like he was about to go on, but a certain emptiness filled his eyes. “What’s the point? It doesn’t matter anyway. None of this matters. I don’t matter.” 

Tony looked down at the bandage on Peter’s wrist, already soaking through with blood. 

“Why did you save me?” 

“Because I love you.” 

Tony pressed a kiss against Peter’s forehead, hands shaking and eyes filling with tears. “Come on. Let’s go sit down.” 

…

There are few things Peter loves more than jumping spiders. Except for maybe glasswing butterflies, or millipedes. Peter loves millipedes. There are few things he loves more than Bobby, his teddy bear. 

All of these things have one thing in common: they all give Peter comfort. 

Comfort is needed, and wanted, more than food. More than anything else, Peter just wants to feel okay. 

This is what he talks about while Tony tries to ask him questions about his mental health. He’s bad at distracting people from the subject at hand, but he tries his hardest. 

“And snails are really cool. And really pretty. Their shells are a part of them and if you take them off, they die. That’s also with turtles. Kind of, but not really. I think. I don’t know, I haven’t done much research on turtles. Can I show you pretty pictures of frogs?” 

Peter is sitting at the table, and Tony is standing a few feet away, fingers itching to comfort his kid.

Peter isn’t looking at Tony; he’s staring at his hands. He’s tapping his pointer fingers together, his eyebrows scrunched. He was acting a lot like a kid who had gotten in trouble. He rubbed at his face with the heel of his hand, sighing. Even his voice sounded like a little kid. 

“Peter. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Moths are really cool.” 

“Peter.” 

“I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Tough luck.” 

“Wanna see a pretty insect?” 

“Peter. Parker.” 

“Sometimes, I am in so much pain from being sad. It feels like the whole world is gray. Most days, I don’t feel anything but pure dread. I am so scared of the future, and it hurts so much. I am never not sad. I haven’t experienced any emotion other than sad for so long, I can’t remember what it’s like to be anything else. I don’t think it’s worth it to live like that.” 

Tony paused, staring at Peter. For the first time since he had found him, tears had started to collect on his lower lashes. 

“And I don’t want to be alive anymore.” 

With that, the tears fell, and Peter broke down. 

Peter was sure that this was the end. That surely, Tony would want nothing to do with a child as pathetic as him. Tony would finally see that he was damaged goods, not worth the time or effort he had invested in him. 

The exact opposite happened. 

Tony pulled Peter into a crushing hug. 

“I don’t know, kid. I don’t know what’s going on or how to help. But I promise you with everything I have in me that I  _ will  _ help. Things will get better. You just have to stick with me, okay? Just a little while longer.” 

The embrace was warm and solid. Peter relaxed into it, his tears becoming silent. He was exhausted. 

“Come on, spidey. You’ve had a long, long day.” Tony pulled away, smoothing Peter’s hair behind his ears. “Let’s get some sleep, yeah?” 

Peter nodded, his chest feeling numb and his head heavy. 

“I love you. We’re going to be okay.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Please stay safe. 
> 
> National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255


End file.
